Imprisoned Doll
by The Glass Crow
Summary: She feels bleak and oppressed, and it's known she isn't all there. But that doesn't stop the puppeteer from seeing perfection in the imperfect. DrocellxOC, kind of dark, but not bad


Eyes tinted a bluish green surveyed the crowded street; bored brows furrowed with lethargy.

The young woman was slight of build, noble in almost all appearance. _Almost._

The way her posture was curved, not straight and rigid and perfect, gave her away. Her stubborn eyes held a life noble's did not. A frightening, horrible life that gave away pain, sadness, anger, betrayal.

It was alive, oh so very _alive._

She was beautiful.

A beautiful doll, capable of inflicting pain and sadness. Love and affection.

Suddenly, her head snapped up. She heard the music, the tantalizing melody played from the small box. Her eyes, the gorgeous little orbs, immediatly snapped over to the noise. It cut through the dull, lifeless air with startling quality. The deep, royal blue ring on her ring finger glinted and glowed an odd, irridescent hue.

She took no notice.

Her feet, thin and delicate, made their way over to the impending sound. Her head swiveled from side to side, eyes vainly searching for the source of the noise in the complete blackness of the alleyway.

As it started to fade, her body tensed. It was going away?

But _why?_

_It's so amazing._

Her limpid hair fell in short little curls, contrasting greatly with her face as she stepped into the dark space between the buildings.

She wanted to hear that sound. That majestic, lovely, wholely **perfect **sound.

The more she ventured into the darkness, the louder the music got. Again, she stopped, searching for the noise. It went quiet, just barely audible against the suffocating atmosphere. She breathed deep, black and red corset scrunching and grinding painfully into her ribs.

It made her feel worthless, meaningless: completely repressed, locked away.

The tightness made her wonder why she did what she did, why she allowed the events to take place the way they did.

Why the hell was she doing this?

Was she afraid of facing her actions? Was she afraid of the consequences of abnormality?

Was that it?

Was it?

...Did she want to die?

Not like it mattered anymore. All she wanted was to find the source of that melody, that rhapsody of icy sadness, chilling familiarity, a soothing caress on her wounded soul. She just wanted healing.

Her legs, aching with regret and the want to return home where everything at least had the _illusion _of being safe, moved onward as though being forced. But they weren't being forced.

She was completely willing, even though she saw the nearly transparant strings attached to her wrists, ankles, and even her neck. But they were slack, glinting only faintly in the waning moonlight.

"_Build it up with _

_**s i l v e r **__and __**g o l d,**_

_**s i l v e r **__and __**g o l d,**_

_**s i l v e r **__and __**g o l d.**_

_Build it up with silver and gold,_

_My Fair Lady," _

A harmonious, moderatly deep crooned as she stepped up to and old door.

Her eyes were closed now, swaying gently to the unseen musician. The beauty of the music was haunting, reverberating in quiet echos behind her eyelids, the words dancing like white-hot brands imprinted in her mind. For once in her life, she let a true, genuine smile flash across her features.

Her fingers alighted quietly on the door knob, and she twisted in faintly to the side, eyes still shut tight. The light little would-be heiress stepped through the doorway.

The music stopped.

She wouldn't dare open her eyes, for fear of what she might find.

"You... like the music, little girl? Welcome." A monotone, velvety voice murmured.

She opened her eyes.

He saw them, tsking gently as he stood from his mechanical seat upon the hard leather chair. Rough, wooden fingers clothed in gentle white satin brushed over the brim of her top eyelash, a wooden creaking emitting when he curled his fingers to run down along her cheek. 

"I've never seen a doll's beauty last this long before..." he commented airily, monotonous still in his speech. It was as though he was detached from the world as it was, and was just viewing pictures you could touch, feel, hear and smell.

She envied him.

Her mouth went dry with longing, wanting to know how he attained such an impossible feat. Surely the taking away of his human body had not damaged his soul, had it?

She knew very little of such things as souls and Shinigami. Only enough to work her way around town with ease.

Her abnormality was like a cherry red rose among pristine white lilies.

_...Tainted._

"You are not worthy of your beauty," he commented, "and so then, I thought to myself, _build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold. Build it up with silver and gold, my fair lady..."_

He dropped his hand from her pale face, running his fingertips lightly along the edge of her arm instead. "Beautiful, indeed. Yet wild, unmannered, untamed, disgraceful..."

"You shut up!" she wailed all at once, out of the transient cage of beauty he had placed around her. She felt the lines tighten reflexively around her, but she ignored them. "You know nothing."

"You can't hide it from me, you know," he murmured in that same gentle voice that was cracked and smooth all at the same time. "You don't belong here. You don't belong in the high planes of society. But I can make you what you want to be, if you'd only tell me."

"I want to be free."

His jerky, mechanical movements stopped for a moment, before a ghost of what would have been a smile long, long ago pooled onto his perfect face.

Because she had to admit, he was perfection embodied.

And she was insane for thinking so.

She had always been abnormal.

She was never _right in the head._

Her parents didn't want her to come down when they had dinner parties with their high-bred friends, worrying that her insanity would show through their plastered on make-up and lies. She was never wanted.

So she'd cut herself free of the burden of having to worry about them.

The corset tightened around her chest once, and she took a deep breath in, eyes widening. _No, mother, please, that's too much- at least allow me to __**breathe! **__Mother, please, no-_

The weight condencing her chest lifted, and the bodice fell from her body with a gentle _thump._

The freedom that had been given... she could never have managed it. Not just the bodice, but the feeling, deep inside... that, at least, someone didn't hate her after all.

Because he was just an admirer of perfection, as was she herself.

Line

..._But nobody could take his new doll away, now._


End file.
